


Artistic Inclination

by pirateherokillian (Pirateherokillian)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:45:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateherokillian/pseuds/pirateherokillian
Summary: Killian’s always been artistically inclined and is something he has passed on to Hope.





	Artistic Inclination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xHookedonKillianx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHookedonKillianx/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Kristin! Remember a couple weeks back when were talking about this?? Well, I figured it would make the perfect fic for your special day! (Also, the timing is pure coincidence!). It's unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes.

He’d had an artistic sort of inclination for as long as he could remember. He could still recall the scraps of paper and bits of charcoal his mother would let him use while she would try and figure out something for supper for him and his brother. That same brother, a handful of years later, stowing away as much parchment as he could so Killian could have something to do besides drink between the grueling hours of slave labour. 

It was a small measure to pass the time in Neverland, what little he could actually gauge of time in a place where it didn’t really exist. It even got to a point where almost every inch of his cabin was covered in sketches of all manner of things and people he couldn’t seem to get out of his thoughts during the many sleepless nights only an orphan could know in that accursed land. They’d eventually ended up destroyed in a drunken rage, his hook shredding everything from the likenesses of Liam, Milah, and Bae, to the dark depictions of severed hands and blood-thirsty crocodiles. Still, no amount of rum or anger could keep the itch to sketch it all over again as the centuries trickled by.

Even in the chaos that been much of his life since returning from Neverland for what he had then considered the final time, Killian still had found time here and there to keep the habit alive. Emma had come to cherish the portraits he had done of her before they’d gotten together, and after, as well as the ones of her family and their friends and their not-so-sleepy town in Maine. She stoked his passion in every part of his life, and his art was no exception.

And it was becoming more evident that said passion and inclination for art had passed onto the next in the Jones line. Hope Swan-Jones gravitated towards pencils and paper in much the same way he had as a lad. Her young life was a far cry from the hard one he had managed to scrape his through all those centuries before, but it seemed her desire to get things down in sketches was just as prevalent.

Or, as much as a toddler could sketch. They were crude little doodles at best. Still, much like Emma cherished his art, they both cherished that of their daughter’s - the messily drawn hooks and swans and Jolly Rogers…

That last one was a particular favorite of Hope’s. She seemed to favor her papa’s ship above pretty much every other thing she continuously put down on paper. Or any surface she could get her chubby little hands on.

Like Killian’s arm.

“What is that?”

Killian looked up from where Hope was once again pressing the tip of a marker against the inside of his left arm, finding David frowning curiously at her handiwork. His father-in-law had clearly decided to take a reprieve from the game of flag football he’d been playing with Henry, Emma, and the rest of the family gathered for the afternoon at the Charming farm.

“Oh,” Killian glanced back down at his daughter’s creation. “That’s my ship.”

“Rolly.” Hope supplied distractedly, her little tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she painstakingly drew a crooked mast.

Smilingly affectionately, Killian gently brushed his fingers through her dirty blonde locks. “Aye, the Jolly.”

David moved to claim the chair beside Killian, pulling it over so he could sit and peer at the masterpiece his granddaughter was committing to Killian’s arm. He didn’t seem to have much to add to the conversation after that, more intent of watching Hope work much like Killian had been before he’d made his way over to them. Quiet settled over the trio, the rowdy shouts and laughter from the game several yards away carrying on around them.

“It’s a shame, really…” David murmured softly after a few minutes, eyes still on the toddler’s drawing.

Brow furrowing, Killian looked up at him in mild concern. “What is?”

Gesturing at Hope’s work, David looked towards him. “You don’t get to really save these ones, do you? I know she draws a lot and you and Emma have scrapbooks of it all… but these…” He lifted his eyebrows. “Do you take pictures of them? I don’t think I’ve seen any if you have…”

Killian’s frown deepened as his friend’s words. “No, we’ve never…” He shook his head and looked at the top of Hope’s head. He could feel David’s gaze on him. “I usually just wash them off. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind and just draws something new when she gets the urge.”

“Well then,” David shrugged and lightly slapped Killian on the shoulder as he moved to stand. It caused him to jerk and Hope to let out a disgruntled whine as her canvas shifted, causing the marker to jerk a stray line out from the side of one of the sails. David held up his hands in apology before smiling at Killian, who was once more looking up at him.  “If she doesn’t mind it, then I guess it’s not much of a shame at all.”

Smilingly tightly, Killian nodded. “Aye…” He glanced back down to the doodle on his arm. David made some comment about going to grab a beer, saying he’d bring one back for Killian too. He waved him off, his focus now almost solely on his daughter’s creation.

“Not much of a shame…” He muttered repeatedly, guilt mixing with a half-cocked idea starting to form in his head.

\-----

Emma honed in on it even before he’d completely climbed into bed later that night. Of course she did. She was more intuned him with him than any other person he’d ever known.

“What’s that?” She reached out and pulled his arm closer to her, careful not to run her fingers over the already slightly smudged marker-work. “One of Hope’s drawings?”

Killian sat still as she examined it closely. “Aye.”

“She’s getting really good at the Jolly.” Emma smiled proudly before passing his arm back over closer to him. “I didn’t even realize she’d turned you into her canvas again today… was this during the football game?”

He nodded. “Aye.” He said again, recalling how Hope’s energy had quickly faded not long after finishing the doodle. “She was napping by the time you all were finished playing. I’d pulled up my sleeve and put my brace and hook back on by then.” He ran his thumb along the clean part of skin just below the toddler-jagged lines.

Emma immediately picked up on the hint of plotting to his tone. “And you, Captain ‘I was in the Navy and wash like it’ didn’t rinse it off in the shower because…”

“Your father pointed out how it was a shame these bits of her art get washed away at the end of the day, and,” Killian looked up at her, determination making his blue eyes shine intensely. “I had a thought…” At Emma’s raised eyebrow, he plowed on. “That maybe it doesn’t have to be washed away. At least not this one.”

An affectionate grin graced his wife’s beautiful face, making her seem to glow in the low light put out by the bedside lamp behind her. “You really are just a sentimental old pirate, you know that?”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Aye, I know,” He made a noise in the back of this throw as Emma suddenly leaned in and placed a kiss to his lips. He reached up with his good hand to cup the back of her head, languishing in the feeling of her tongue brushing against his. She pulled away a moment later, but staying close enough so they could rest their foreheads together like they so often did after a kiss.

“So, you’re okay with it?” Killian murmured quietly, bringing his hands around to run his thumb along her cheek.

Emma smiled again. “Of course I’m okay with it.”

\-----

It seemed the one person who well and truly  _ wasn’t _ okay with it was Hope. Killian had spent the whole of the very next morning making his way over to the port where he’d gotten every single one of his tattoos since he’d first become a pirate, and going through the tedious process of once more getting something etched permanently onto his body. Something he considered the most important something of all.

Something his daughter very adamantly hadn’t agreed with when he’d tried to show her several hours later. Killian had initially felt so fulfilled seeing the messy rendition of his ship that would now live forever just past above the crook of his left arm. Now, with the way Hope had wailed and burst into tears, refusing to be comforted by anyone but her mother since, Killian felt like the worst possible father around. And that was saying a lot, considering the type of man his own father had been.

He didn’t know how he’d got it so wrong. Hope loved to draw, seemed to covet the doodles of his ship most of all. It was an important piece of her that he’d thought was important to save forever and she hated it. Hated him, it now seemed like.

“Bloody David…” Killian muttered into his second glass of rum of the evening, glaring out from the porch as the sky quickly faded into inky night. The crickets were already carrying on their nightly tunes, only adding to the chaos of thoughts swirling around Killian’s head. “ _ Shameful _ . I’ll bloody show him shameful… my own daughter screaming at the sight of me,” He downed the rest of his drink, already reaching for the bottle sitting on the porch beside his chair.

The sound of the screen door creaking open caused him to look up sharply. Emma was standing in the doorway, a despondent Hope in her arms. “Before you get too deep in that bottle, Captain…” She was giving him a look between loving exasperation and hopefulness. “Maybe you can spare a moment for your best first mate? She’s got something to ask you.”

Killian immediately sat back up, setting the glass to the side. “Of course I can spare a moment.” He held out his arms, and then caught sight of the fresh ink and pulled his left one back slightly to try and hide it. Emma started towards him with Hope. “For my favorite girls, I can spare every moment I’ve got.”

“You see.” Emma whispered into Hope hair as she approached. “Papa isn’t mad at you.”

“What?” Killian gasped, taking his daughter from her mother when she held her out to him. He turned a bewildered look from Emma, who was lowering herself down to a crouch  by his knee and giving him an affectionate eyeroll, to his daughter. Her blue eyes, nearly identical to his, were downcast. “Why would you ever possibly think that, my darling?”

Hope sniffled and shrugged.

“Hope, you wanna tell your papa what made you so upset?” Emma asked quietly, resting her hand against the little girl’s back gently.

She shook her head, fresh tears falling down her cheeks.

Killian sent a baffled and pained look to his wife. She sighed and pushed herself up a bit so she could look around at their daughter. She brought her fingers up to brush the almost too-long bangs out of Hope’s eyes.

“Hope thinks that because you covered up her favorite coloring spot forever that you are mad at her.”

Realization slammed into Killian like a rogue wave and he felt the tension rush out of his body instantly. “Oh, Hope.” He couldn’t help but laugh lightly even as emotion started to make his throat feel like it was closing up. “My sweet little love,” He tucked her up against his chest and she sobbed into his shirt. “No, my darling. Don’t cry. I promise I’m not mad at you. I didn’t get it to punish you.”

“You didn’?” Hope mumbled through her tears into his chest.

Killian pulled her back, keeping her balanced with his left arm around her back so he could reach up to wipe at her tears with the back of his hand. “No, sweetheart.” He smiled sweetly for her. “I did it because I love you, and  _ everything _ you do, so bloody much that I wanted it to live forever as a part of me.” He shifted so he was gently holding her with his right hand at her side and held his left arm aloft slightly so Hope could see the fresh ink on his arm. “This was praise, not punishment.”

Hope looked at him curiously. “‘Raise?”

Nodding encouragingly, Killian gave her his biggest grin. “Aye, love. Praise. It means I’m so proud of you. You make me so unbelievably happy to be your papa.”

Her own grin followed his words, along with a little giggle that melted away any remaining doubts and fears Killian felt. She turned on his lap a fraction to finally take a better look at the tattoo that had initially sent her into a meltdown. Ever curious, she reached out to touch it, but both Killian and Emma were quick to stop her, Emma’s fingers lightly grabbing Hope’s just in time before they pressed against Killian’s still sensitive flesh.

Hope deflated at their gentle reprimands.

Killian squeezed her side soothingly. “It’s okay.” When Hope gave him another unsure look, he scrunched up his nose slightly. “It’s gonna be like a yucky boo boo for a little while. We have to let it heal first, aye?”

Her eyes went wide and she nodded, looking back to the artwork on his arm. “Aye.”

Killian smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head. As she continued to scrutinizer her own work on his skin, he glanced up at Emma.

“Excellent diffusion, love.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well…” She placed her hand on Hope’s head as she leaned into give him a quick kiss. She then leaned over and snatched the bottle up from the porch floor. “When my kid is as dramatic as her damn father,” She gave him a pointed look, shaking the bottle for emphasis. Killian flushed and pressed his cheek down on top of Hope’s head. “You gave me plenty of practice over the years.”

He wanted to shoot back a quip at overreacting running long and deep on her side of the family as well. Make some sassy remark about Prince Charming and his penchant for dramatics. But with Hope in his arms, her tiny fingers delicately tracing around his new tattoo, suddenly humming a sea shanty he’d sang to her often on nights when she couldn’t sleep, Killian realized Emma had a point.

An inclination for art wasn’t the only thing his little girl had inherited from him.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to chat about all things Captain Swan, Killian Jones, or Colin O'Donoghue, you can find me over on Tumblr as pirateherokillian and on Twitter as pirateherojones.


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